


Even in the World of Beasts

by AetosForeas



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Assassin's Creed Odyssey
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe Kassandra/Natakas, F/F, F/M, M/M, Natakas doesn't die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:54:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23038168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AetosForeas/pseuds/AetosForeas
Summary: What if Natakas had taken Elpidios and gotten on a boat?
Relationships: Kassandra/Natakas (Assassin's Creed)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 68





	1. The Deadly Growl

She broke a man’s neck with her hands.

The sound of the bone cracking between her palms didn’t shock her. It wasn’t the first neck she’d broken that way. She merely threw his corpse to the side and lashed out with a kick, her sandaled foot taking the next man high in the chest and slamming him hard against a tree. He fell forward, still alive, but not able to move in time to avoid the _kopis_ to his throat.

“Kassandra, what do we…”

“Keep. _Running_.” She howled the words over the flames. Dyme was burning, and the Order had flooded it with men. A keen wave of fury cut through her fear, a rage that felt almost incandescent. Ahead of her, Natakas was cradling Elpidios in his arms, leaving the task of keeping them safe to her. It made sense – Natakas was a skilled archer, but she was a killer.

_I heard the deadly growl of its mother._

Alexios’ voice came to her as they ran through the cave, scrambling over rocks to reach the cove. There was a small fishing skiff there, and once Darius reached them, they could use it to paddle out and away from Dyme and towards Patrai, where the _Adrestia_ sat docked. Natakas had gently mocked her for keeping it close, when she hadn’t used the ship in months, but she had the drachmae to keep the crew paid and Barnabas was almost a second grandfather to Elpidios.

“Here. Hide here, behind the ship.” She almost hauled Natakas off of his feet and crouched with him, waiting for Darius. He’d shouted he’d meet them there as the Order closed their trap around them. She resisted the urge to pace – every second they waited was another second the Order could find them. She worried very little for herself, but Natakas and Elpidios – the thought of it ripped claws of terror up and down her spine, made her throat go dry and her hands shake.

“Where is he?” Natakas hissed. She closed her eyes, listened. Nothing. No sound of a man creeping like a shadow through the underbrush, no faint slap of calloused skin on rock clambering up. She concentrated further, a moment of utter disassociation and she was up above the world, seeing through the eyes of an eagle. _Her_ eagle, Ikaros, his wings wide in the updrafts from the fires around Dyme.

No sign of Darius. But the Order men were moving, fanning out. Searching. They were everywhere, numerous as ants, points of flame in the dark from torches as they burned wherever they went.

They hadn’t found the cove yet, but they would. Soon.

“Get on the boat.” She didn’t speak so much as growled it.

“But father…”

“Your father is an old man who knows his work. That child in your arms is your only concern now, Natakas.” She fixed her eyes on him, her voice terrible. Inside her she knew what this would cost her, but nothing – not his feelings, not her own, _nothing_ – was as important as the baby in Natakas’ arms. “ _Get on the boat.”_

He did, his eyes wide and staring. She helped him get Elpidios situated, grabbed hold of the side and shoved it off of the beach. It was a small fishing skiff. It could hug the coast, but it couldn’t even make the ride out of Kephallonia. She knew they wouldn’t make it if the Order found the cove and saw the traces of the boat.

“What are you doing?”

“Get to Patrai. Find Barnabas. Tell him I said to take you both to Sparta, find Myrrine and Alexios.” One last shove and the boat was full in the water and moving away.

“I’m not leaving…”

“ _You take him.”_ She drew the half-spear and kopis, gave Natakas a level look. “You keep our son safe. I’ll make sure no one follows you.”

“They’ll _kill_ you!”

“They’ll try.” She smiled, and it was sad, yes, but also it was the smile on her face the old midwife in Dyme told her what she’d already suspected. “Others thought they could kill me with an army. They’re dead now. Take him to Patrai.”

Three words rose to her lips but she didn’t say them. She’d never actually said them to him, and saying them now felt wrong. Instead, she turned and headed back towards the cave. She closed her eyes again, reached out to Ikaros, and watched as the boat left, caught by the current. Natakas was a good enough sailor to make it to Patrai. She’d taught him herself.

She watched for a moment longer as the boat headed away, and then she moved.

At the mouth of the cave, just after the ladder, she could smell smoke and hear voices. She flattened out and listened, letting her eyes dilate so that the scant moonlight felt almost like morning. It took forty agonized seconds for them to get close enough to make out what they were saying.

“…there. Blood.” _Damn it, Kassandra, you left a trail_.

“Not very much.”

“It’s not any of theirs.” The voices got closer and she drew her bow and pulled back an arrow, her breathing smooth and even, betraying nothing of how she felt. Her emotions had to be controlled now. She couldn’t allow the thought of them finding that cove and realizing where they’d gone to take hold, she pushed it out with her breath. The first head cleared the grass, one of the helmets with the face mask concealing the features.

It had gaps where the eyes could peer out.

She put an arrow in one. He dropped, the fletching protruding from his face, and she rolled to the side and fired again, this time just trying to keep their attention. A cursory count told her there were ten. The light of their torches meant that they couldn’t see as well out into the dark around them, and painted her targets in flickers of orange and gold. She fired again, and again, before at last they knew where the shots were coming from.

She dropped the bow and drew blades, rolling forward to evade return fire and came up savage, a disemboweling strike that she’d learned from fighting her brother. Memories of Pylos, of battling in the flames, him trying to kill her while she tried to reach him. There would be no talking this time.

She’d never danced the _Gymnopaedia_. She’d never even seen it. But she danced now, with sword and half-spear in hand, and bodies dropped in the grass. She remembered a warehouse in Corinthia, a man, the two of them side by side while timbers fell from the burning loft above. She’d worried about bearing him sons, about feeding them to Sparta. Now death was stalking the child she’d never meant to give them and all she could do was hope they reached Sparta, and some kind of safety.

She took a staggering blow from a spear, just barely managing to drop so that it ripped a furrow across her chest instead of impaling her. Bridged to her feet and buried the half-spear, the blade of Leonidas, in a man’s eye.

 _Even in the world of beasts, a family protects its young_.

They were all dead before she knew to stop. Her breathing was a hammer in her chest. No time to stop, no time to dispose of the bodies. She had to trace her steps back to Dyme. She made sure her blades had blood on them and moved, dripping as she went. Leaving a trail away from the cove.

*

Darius spit blood.

He’d killed several of them already, of course. Skilled, yes, but the Order had the disadvantage of never being hunted. They were looking for prey, not watching for threats. There were twenty dead between the house above Dyme and the town itself. He was very deliberately leaving the bodies to be found.

Leading them back towards the town.

He knew Natakas wouldn’t want to leave him. So instead he was counting on Kassandra to understand what he was doing. Amorges wouldn’t send this many without someone to command them, someone he trusted. And Amorges only trusted one person now that Pactyas was dead.

He reached the center of town, which was all flames and screams now.

Natakas would have been horrified, would have wanted to help them. Darius was long past such notions, save when he humored them in his son. But now his grandson made such sentiment impossible. Left to his own devices Natakas would have argued.

Darius crept like a shadow, evading their best. Knowing where to go. The only place it could be, ultimately. The small hill outside of Dyme, the spot with a view of the town and the house above it. He saw two men hiding in the brush and moved to the side, crept right past them. Skilled, but not concerned. No taste of fear to sharpen them.

He drove the blade on his wrist into the taller one’s spine, just below his skull. The one ahead of him heard the sound of the blade punching through bone and turned in time to take a dagger under his chin, and fell dead on top of his fellow. Darius knew better than to view it as a victory. Amorges had brought overwhelming numbers fully intended for some of them to die this way. Darius knew a trap when he saw one. But he had no choice. He had to walk into it, had to trip it, to keep Amorges’ eyes focused where Darius wanted them.

 _Until it no longer matters_.

He crept like the smoke from the fires all around, the flaming town, the burning tress and grass. It reminded him of so many other sights just like it, in Makedonia, in Thrakia, in Lydia and Cappadocia. The Order burning and killing, trying to flush him out. Finally, it had worked.

 _Let no one say you lack persistence_.

He was fully in the clearing before they showed themselves.

“Old friend.”

He was up on a rise, looking down with sad eyes. Darius was surprised by the lines on Amorges’ face, even though he knew his own was equally carved by time, he’d somehow retained that image of his friend in the hallway outside Artaxerxes’ room. His beard was steel grey, as was his hair, held back by a golden band. His armor was well made, typically Persian. Flanking him were two large men, the Order’s Immortals.

There were more, all around him. He stopped counting at twenty.

“Amorges.”

“Artabanus. Or, I’m sorry, you call yourself Darius now? Strange choice in names.”

“It did what I wanted it to do.”

“Indeed. If not for your son and his choice of company, I might never have found you. I honestly thought I’d lose you. If you’d left when Phila died…”

“If means nothing. We are both here.” Darius stood to his full height, ignoring as he always did every ache and pain, every sign of his age. “Why are we still talking?”

“Why would we not? After all this time. I was saddened by you killing Pactyas.”

“I was sadden when he killed my wife and my daughter on your orders.”

“If you wanted to spare them, you only had to turn yourself in. You know I wouldn’t have hurt them once I had you.”

“Do I? I once thought I knew you, and learned just how fully wrong I was. I’ll blame myself for their deaths with every last gasp of air, but…” He gestured at the flaming town behind him. “You don’t seem particularly bothered by all this.”

“I regret the necessity, but I know that it _is_ necessary.” He gestured, and the two heavily armed and armored killers at his side dropped off of the rock and began circling towards Darius. “If you tell me where the Tainted Ones are, I can make this quick, for the sake of our friendship. I’ll even let Natakas live, once we find him.”

Darius’ eyes narrowed. Amorges had let it slip, perhaps on purpose, trying to goad a reaction out of him. A twist of the head, perhaps, in the direction they’d run. But he kept his eyes fixed on the two stalking closer to him and waited in silence.

“No?”

“No.”

“I am sorry, then. But I much have them, and you… you’re far too dangerous to leave.”

*

Somewhere in her was the certain knowledge that she’d gone mad.

She was stalking through the darkness, and whenever she found a pack of them, she struck. Killed as many quietly as she could, and when she couldn’t hide any longer, she would rush out of the night a frenzy of blades. She kept expecting to die – her lungs were parched sand from all the smoke she’d inhaled, her body scored by wounds on her hands, arms, legs, and face. Blood loss was sapping her strength, but every time she felt like she was about to fall, the half-spear in her hand would pulse and heat would rocket up her arm and through her, and the wounds would close.

_In our blood lies power, and there are those who will seek to use that power for themselves._

She was hunting now. She’d moved past her initial goal, which had been to leave a trail. By now she’d butchered enough men that the trail was well and truly left. Now she was heading back into Dyme, with Ikaros above her, her second eyes. There was someone she meant to find. She’d grown up with only stories of her grandfather, and if she could prevent that for _her_ son, then she would.

_The longer you keep going, the better their chances. The more of them you kill, the fewer of them can follow._

She prayed for the first time since Amphipolis that Natakas had done what she said. That he hadn’t tried to come back. Hadn’t tried to save his father, or her. His heart was soft, and he loved them both, he might try.

 _Love our son more, please_.

Leaving her latest victims in a pile by the road out of Dyme – she’d spotted them about to fall upon a group escaping from the town and done to them what they’d meant to do – she did what they’d done to almost find the cave and followed a trail of fire and blood back away from the town. She realized with dispassion that she’d killed less men in battles she’d been paid to win than she had that night.

It didn’t matter

Nothing mattered but keeping them away from her son.

She would have walked in if not for Ikaros. They were hidden very well, a ring of men in trees, in brush, behind rocks. But as well hidden as they were from ground level, to the eagle above them, they were easily spotted. She’d sheathed the half-spear but she could still feel it, feel Ikaros through it. Saw what he saw. Her blood indeed held power. A quiet moment, bent in a crouch, her forehead touching the dirt.

_Please, Panmater. Please. You took the daughter of my heart, the sister and the best part of me. Down into the dark, where I will never see her again. Not my son. Not yet. If I have to die, then here I am, take me. But not my little hope._

That was all the praying there was in her. Her eyes wet, Kassandra of Sparta abandoned all hope of escape, or ever seeing her son again. Now all that was left was the blade on her back, the legacy of Leonidas.

Through the darkness she could hear voices. Men speaking in deep, even tones, for all the world a simple conversation. She recognized both voices. One by one, as they talked, she moved from tree to bush to stand of grass, guided by Ikaros. One by one, she would drive herself forward, the half spear in her hand, and she would end a life.

Then the sound of combat from the clearing told her she was out of time.


	2. The flight of the eaglets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natakas travels to Sparta with Elpidios to seek safety with the Agiad, but not all is as he expects

He was so tired.

It had taken him three hours to get the skiff all the way to Patrai, exhaustion and terror a fog in his mind. Natakas wasn’t a coward, but danger to yourself was one thing – danger to his child was something else entirely. Combine that with the near certainty that his father and his lover were both dead and all he was left with was that terror driving him forward.

By the time he’d reached Patrai he’d almost convinced himself to go back. There was a chance the _Adrestia_ would be out of port – Barnabas liked to _keep busy_ , as he put it, and there were sundries and even mail to deliver to Kephallonia or Ithaka or even Korkrya. Not terribly long trips, but if he’d stayed the night…

But the boat was docked and most of the crew was aboard when he’d run the skiff into the side, nearly greying out from fatigue. Two of the crew, burly Antonakos and lithe Mahut, pulled him aboard and called for the _triearchos_. Barnabas and his lover, a shaggy Korinthian huntress named Iola, were soon on the deck. It was here that Natakas made the mistake that would haunt him.

“Kassandra… told me to tell you… take Elpidios and I to Sparta.” Gasping, he’d laid out the attack, how Dyme was in flames, the people scattered or dead. Iola had taken Elpidios from him so that he didn’t drop the child while Barnabas made him sit near the back of the ship and began barking orders, including ordering water and some bread be brought up to Natakas, who accepted it as best he could in he shape he was in. Within ten minutes the _Adrestia_ was on the water, making speed down the Achaian coast. It wasn’t until Natakas saw the smoke riding from Dyme as they sailed southward that he realized what was happening.

“Wait.” He stood, walked to the rail where Barnabas stared grimly ahead. “We should stop, we could…”

“She said to go to Sparta?”

“Yes, but…”

“I like you, boy.” Barnabas turned and laid a hand on Natakas’ shoulder. “But on this ship, only one person gives me orders, and she’s not you.”

“They’ll _kill_ her!”

“By now, either she’s already dead, or she’s escaped them.” Barnabas didn’t even spare a glance for Dyme as they continued to sail. “Your duty is to your son now. And the Eagle Bearer… I’ve seen her leap onto the deck of a burning ship and kill every man on board, I’ve heard her blandly tell me of battles with impossible things. I saw her destroy an entire band of bandits the first time I met her. If she’s dead…” Natakas saw the older man take a moment, watched him master himself. “Boy, you’ve shared her life. You know what she is. If she’s dead, she took them to Hades with her.”

It did not comfort him. But there was nothing he could do – Elpidios was crying, and Iola couldn’t soothe him, so Natakas took his son back into his arms and spent the rest of the voyage trying to keep the wailing to a minimum. Iola had produced goat’s milk from the hold, Elpidios took it with a little complaint.

 _You eat for Kass_. Natakas didn’t doubt her, but at the same time, Barnabas hadn’t seen her face in the deep of night when the baby would scream and cry and keep them both awake, the way she’d so softly wrap the child up after cleaning him. It was hard to reconcile the Kassandra who lived with him in Dyme with the one Barnabas was talking about.

The sun climbed the sky and then began to descend into the Ionian, hanging low and red by the time they reached Gytheion. Natakas had never seen it – Kass wanted him to meet her family, wanted them to meet Elpidios, but she also feared what they would say. They were Spartans, after all, descended from Leonidas who’d died to keep Persia out of Greece. The idea of how they’d take her Persian lover, her half-Persian son… and of course there were those in Sparta who would not take the daughter of the Agiad bearing a Persian child well. Pleistoanax was on the throne, but many knew that his heir was not Pausanias – and Agis II might well fancy an Agiad wife, if one could be found. Killing Natakas and his inconveniently Agiad son could solve a lot of problems.

_Maybe they even knew about the Order. Maybe…_

He swallowed it back down. For right now, there was only one thing he could do.

He was surprised to find Barnabas leading a pair of horses off of the ship. The one-eyed _triearchos_ shook his head at Natakas’ expression, then turned to Iola.

“You know what to do?”

“Wait here until you return. If I see a detachment of Spartans in armor, push the ship off and flee.” She laid her forehead against his. “Return to me quickly.”

“Hermes speed my horse. Or Poseidon. Or both.” He laughed, his natural exuberance dimmed but not gone. “Say some prayers while I’m gone, and tell Reza and Roxana to watch the horizon with you.”

She nodded and then stepped back and Brasidas slung himself up on the back of the Makedonian stallion that Kassandra so often used. It felt like the horse was less letting Barnabas ride it and more dragging him along, like it knew the way already and didn’t need any input from him. So instead he spent the ride trying to talk to Natakas.

“Breathe.”

“I am breathing.”

“Do it more often.”

“What do I even say… I don’t even know where they live in the city, the guards might…”

“The guards know me, and they know who I’ll be going to see. They’ll let me pass.” He chuckled. “Benefit of working for the lost sheep of the Agiad. Some of them knew Brasi…” He stopped talking suddenly. Natakas knew the name, knew who he was, but Kass rarely spoke about him. He belonged to the same _what happened before_ that his sister Neema did, and while she acknowledged that it had happened she seemed very reticent to discuss it further.

Ordinarily Natakas might have offered Barnabas words to move them past the moment, but instead, he was thinking about what would happen once they arrived. About what he’d left behind. He’d honestly believed after Phila’s death… surely, with that many of the Order’s best dead, they’d be left alone, he’d _said_ as much. His father had simply given him a level stare. He’d dismissed this as his father’s usual dour self, he’d ignored what the man had tried to tell him, because he’d wanted what Dyme meant to him so very badly. And now his father and the mother of his son were both dead, and he was following a man with one eye into a valley full of people who likely would kill him if they heard him talk.

Memories rode up from Gytheion with him. The first time his father had shown him how to use a bow. The last time he’d seen Neema, or his mother, the way their losses had carved themselves into Darius, cutting away even the name they’d known him by. The first time he’d seen Kass, soot on her face, a dead soldier at her feet. That day in the woods, the night they’d likely made Elpidios in the dark, her face in shadow.

He’d felt grief before, but losing them both at once was so much he couldn’t do anything but hold his son and focus on that. Focus on who he could still save, so that he didn’t break in half.

True to Barnabas’ word, the guards saw the big horse and him on its back and let them pass. One of them even nodded to Barnabas with something like respect, if not for him personally, at least for what he represented. Or who, more like. The horse turned down a relatively narrow street and there they were in front of a not particularly grand house. It wasn’t even as big as the house in Dyme had been.

In front of the house was a big, muscular man in golden armor, his arms and legs and the set of his agate-brown eyes familiar, but haunted in a way hers were not. The set of his jaw, his build, and the way he glowered at them both told Natakas who he was. He walked over and took the reins of the big Makedonian, led the horse to where water and feed waited.

Natakas slid from the back of his own horse and found himself looking up. He wasn’t that much taller, certainly not the largest man he’d ever seen, but there was a feral quality to him. Kass’s brother leveled those piercing brown eyes on him, and then his face softened as he looked at Elpidios.

“I have to…” Natakas started, but the other man shook his head.

“Inside.” He swept his eyes around, making sure that no one was watching. If he saw someone he didn’t say it, but he almost shoved Natakas forward, and he nearly lifted Barnabas up and put him on the doorstep. Swallowing, ready to face Kassandra’s mother, Natakas stepped inside.

His father was laying on a grass mat, his breathing shallow. His face and arms were wrapped, his torso completely obscured by what looked like wet cloth, and the smell of herbs hit him as he tried to process what he was seeing.

Leaning over his father, Kassandra looked up at him. Her arms shook as she stood. There was a burn mark on her forehead, another on her left arm.

“Thank every God.” He was dimly aware of her mother and a stern looking older man with a beard in the room, but they didn’t matter. She closed the distance between them and took his face in her hands, tears wet on her face. Elpidios reached out both hands and grabbed at her braid, the way he always did, and she laughed and took him into her arms with a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Hello, little lion cub.” She breathed out and a sob came out with it. “ _Mater_ is so glad to see you, yes she is.”

“How…”

“It can be faster to ride straight down than to sail around the whole of the Peloponnese.” She leaned into his arms and they came around her like a spasm. “I rode one horse almost to death, had to steal another in Arkadia. Still, I’ve only been here an hour. Thankfully I still remember what Hippokrates taught me, neh?”

“How… is he going to…”

“He’s made of rocks. He should have died on the way here, but instead he’s still fighting.” Kass shook her head, then stepped away with an effort. “ _Mater_ helped me close his wounds. We didn’t have any dogs handy, but I did my best. The herbs came from her garden. Trust a Spartan to have willow bark to hand.”

“Old Myra is a rhizotomiki.” The older woman spoke. There was an echo of her in Kassandra, in the shape of their eyes, but Kass was a head taller than her mother. She walked up and brushed a hand across Elpidios’ face. “Hello to you, grandson.”

Kassandra’s brother was behind him, as if completely by accident, but his shoulder kept Natakas on his feet. Without seeming to do much of anything he guided Natakas to a bench near where his father lay.

“Who knows they’re here?” Alexios said, as if to the room. The older man with the beard and the face like a granite quarry walked to the door and looked outside.

“The _Adrestia_ is in Gytheion.” Barnabas spoke. “People will talk. If they don’t know you’re here yet, they soon will.”

“Someone probably saw me ride in. A few someones. I had a bloody half dead body over the back of a stolen horse.” She turned to her mother. “Do you…”

“Give him.” She took the baby with easy hands. Natakas realized that she would have done so with both Kassandra and Alexios when they were babies. Kass talked very little about her life in Spara, usually starting with Mount Taygetos. Elpidios cooed and Myrrine shook her head, but smiled as he gripped her finger. “Strong hands, too. Reminds me of two someones.”

“He’s a terror when he’s hungry.” Kass had sat down next to Natakas, and now had her hand on his, her fingers tracing along the veins.

“Have you weaned him?”

“As soon as I could. He’s a biter.”

“Ha, so you were.”

“Rest assured he has avenged you.” She leaned her head against his. “Are you…”

“They never touched me. I tried to get Barnabas to go back…”

“I’m glad he didn’t. I wasn’t there.” He could feel the strain ebbing out of her, the way she relaxed against him, and wondered at how it felt.

“How did you…”

“Later, please. I’m so tired, Nataki.” The endearment, one she rarely used, it slipped out as she leaned against him. “’Xios, could you…”

“I’m already going. I’ll see what Stentor knows. The longer we can keep this quiet the better.” Natakas saw that the man had a golden sword, a wicked looking thing, strapped to a sword belt at his side. It reminded him of the strange half-spear Kassandra’s grandfather had left behind. Alexios saw him looking and nodded grimly, then stepped outside.

“Nikolaos.” Myrrine spoke to the glowering man. “Go with him.”

“I don’t…”

“Your name still carries weight at the barracks. We _need_ to keep this as close as we can for now, you know this. Please.” Natakas couldn’t even decipher the looks and tones the two of them were using, but at last Nikolaos nodded and stepped outside to follow after Alexios.

“Thank you, _mater_.” Kass exhaled.

“One less person underfoot. Barnabas, are you hungry?”

“I could always eat, but I’d rather get back to the _Adrestia_. Eagle-Bearer, I was thinking I could take the ship out, move it somewhere else, or…”

“Not just yet. We might need it. But be cautious.” She opened one eye, not lifting her head from Natakas’ shoulder. “Expect to hear from me by tomorrow.”

“Of course.”

“And thank you, Barnabas.”

“Of course.” Barnabas stopped to wiggle his fingers at the baby in Myrrine’s arms. “Goodbye for now, little man! I’ll tell you about Theseus next time I see you.”

“Pff. Tell him about Perseus.” Myrrine shook his head. “He should know where he comes from.” She waited for Barnabas to depart before turning back to Kassandra and Natakas. “Well, I can’t just call you Persian, so if you call me Myrrine, I’ll call you Natakas. You _should_ have brought my grandson to me before now. But I’ll deal with that later. Don’t let her stay awake too long. You’re both going upstairs now. Don’t argue with me, I’ll win.”

“My father…”

“He’ll be alive when you wake up, if I have anything to say about it. And my daughter may have learned from Hippokrates, but I learned on a pirate ship. I know from sword wounds.”

There was a moment that blurred around him as the tension and fear he’d been carrying for a day and a half finally eased up and he found himself laying in a dark, cool room with Kassandra, who had not released him since he’d arrived.

“I can’t believe you’re here.” He murmured into her hair.

“You haven’t heard? Ares crept into my _mater’s_ bed disguised as Nikolaos and sired me.” Her breathing was deep and even and her voice slurring slightly. “We can talk later, Nataki. For now… just be here. Just be here with me.”

He drifted off with that in his ears.


	3. Always moving forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natakas at the family home.

He woke with the sun. That wasn’t _too_ unusual – Natakas was an early riser by nature, had been for most of his life. Whether it was innate or trained, he often awake just before or at sunrise. What was surprising was that Kassandra was still asleep. Worse, her face was twisted up and she was making little noises, grunts and groans. He wasn’t sure if he should wake her. The burn on her face looked painful, although it was already smaller than it had been when they’d gone to sleep.

_You know what she is._

He didn’t know if that was true. Oh, he’d seen her do practically impossible things. She’d come to Makedonia and taken on the Order nearly by herself. And what she’d done in Dyme against them… even her mere presence in Sparta alive, considering the odds she’d willingly taken on. The Order called her a _Tainted One_ , but if Kassandra was tainted Natakas couldn’t see it. Glorious, strong, willful, a natural commander, a warrior. Greeks love their myths and stories – he’d lost count of how many times he’d been at a fire and heard one of them start reciting one of their poems by memory, telling tales of Achilles or Herakles or Perseus. Kassandra reminded him of those stories.

At the moment she reminded him of the way she’d simply locked her mouth closed and went through all of childbirth refusing to make a sound. Refusing to admit that there was pain, even though he could see it.

 _You are flesh and blood. I think you forget, sometimes_. He wanted to trace her features with his fingers. But that would wake her. Even moving might, but he felt restless and wanted to see Elpidios, reassure himself. So he got himself up as quietly as he could, which was fairly quiet. He wasn’t his father, but he had paid attention growing up.

He was surprised to find Kassandra’s brother awake, in full armor, standing like a statue in the main room of the house. The man’s brow furrowed on seeing him.

“Kassandra?”

“Sleeping.”

“Good.” Alexios said nothing else, and Natakas had no idea what to say to the man in turn, so he instead stopped to check on his father. Darius was still unconscious, his breathing even for someone who’d suffered as much as he clearly had. Even under the wrappings there were clear signs of wounds to his face, arms and chest, the kind meat to torment rather than kill.

His eyes went wet and he blinked several times. Of all the people on the face of the world, to see his father like this. It confused him, too – if at last the Order finally found them, finally had Artabanus the great traitor in their hands, why had they not killed him? As skilled as his father was, it was clear he’d been outmatched. What had happened?

“Where’s Elpidios?”

“Myrr… _Mater_ has him.” Alexios kept staring out the doorway. “There was an old crib in storage. I don’t know if it was Kass’ or mine, maybe we both used it. He’s in it now.”

“What are you doing?”

“Watching.”

“We’re in the middle of Sparta.”

“Exactly.” Alexios didn’t turn but he did give Natakas a momentary look. “My sister is… difficult to kill. I know from experience. Your ‘Order’ and the Cult stared at one another across the Aegean since before the Persians decided to conquer Greece, they won’t quit that easily.”

“You speak like you know them.”

“I know their type.” He rolled his shoulders. “If they’re here in Greece, then they and the Cult have come to common cause. I told Kass she should be careful, that she’d killed so many of them, they’d get desperate enough to work with their opposite number again.”

“I only know what Kassandra has told me about this Cult. They targeted your family?”

Alexios did turn this time, leveled Natakas with a stare. He seemed to be waiting for Natakas to react, but he’d grown up around Darius. He could deal with a stare. The silence lasted, building on itself, but finally Alexios closed the door and walked to sit at the table, gesturing for Natakas to do likewise.

“What do you really know of us? Or of me, I suppose that matters.”

“Kassandra doesn’t talk much about you. She did say she wanted us to meet. I assume not like this.” He hazarded a weak smile but got nothing in return. “I know broad strokes. Mount Taygetos. Growing up on Kephallonia.”

“ _Mater_ would tell you about our blood, about the heroes stretching back. Herakles. Perseus before him. All the way back to Io, I suppose. All I know is the Cult sought my death, had an Oracle predict that I would destroy Sparta. I was to be thrown off Mount Taygetos.” Alexios kept his entire body still, the kind of stillness Natakas knew from a bow drawn as taut as possible. “More fools they. It was always Kass they should have feared, not me.”

“I’m still not sure I understand. Many people claim descent from ancient heroes. Don’t your kings?”

“Of course they do. That’s where _we_ get it from. But in Kassandra and I… in others like us, the blood is especially potent.”

“The Order calls you ‘Tainted Ones’.”

“Yes, that was the source of our disagreement. They wanted those like us destroyed, but the Cult wanted to harness us. Like oxen.” He snorted.

“ _Our_ disagreement?” Natakas knew that hadn’t been a deliberate slip.

“Ah. She’s right, you’re quick.” He drew his sword out of his sword belt and laid it on the table. “Pick it up.”

Natakas did. It was a beautiful blade, looked almost like bronze but inlaid with some other metal he couldn’t identify. The balance was astonishing. He handed it back. Alexios laid it across his palms and then, as Natakas watched, it began to glow faintly. If the room hadn’t still been dark, the sun not quite reaching the windows, he doubted he’d have seen it.

“Tools like this… in the Cult, they call them Relics. From the age of heroes, left behind by the gods. They wanted me because I could use them. Like Kass. That spear she carries, it belonged to Leonidas. Before him, who knows? Perhaps Hyllus, or even Herakles himself, or Perseus before him. Or Aegypticus, or even Epaphus himself, after Zeus touched Io.” He made a noise in the back of his throat. “Perhaps Poseidon left it to Belus. All I know is that, when I was six, they took me into a room on an island and made me pick it up, and when it glowed, all my troubles began.”

Natakas wanted to ask a great many questions, but he waited. It was the same with Kass – pry, and she’d shut down, tell a joke at her own expense or otherwise change the subject. But let her talk on her own and she’d slowly open up, like the petals of a flower seeking sunlight. Her brother wasn’t the same – with him his rage was much closer to the surface, not as well harnessed as his sister’s was. But the reticence felt the same.

“All I mean by this is that your son, when he gets older, she might pass that spear on to him. Or she might not. It works for her more than it ever did for Myrrine. Perhaps you’ll give him this sword, instead.” He slid it back into the sword belt. “For now, though, I think I’ll hold on to it.”

“Do you believe it?”

“Believe what?”

“All that talk of gods and blood. Kass does things, amazing things, but she’s still a woman. I’ve seen her strip a carcass, watched her try and garden. She’s not…” He shrugged. “Your gods have always seemed odd to me anyway.”

“Right. I forgot. Your people only have the one?”

“I’m not particularly religious. It wasn’t something we had a lot of time for. Too busy trying to stay alive and out of their reach.” He shrugged. “I’ve heard a few of the stories since we came to Greece. They love Achilles up in Makedonia and Epirus.”

“I’ve never been to Epirus.”

“The Molossae love to talk about being descended from Achilles.” This earned a shrug from Alexios. “But, I saw Phila – she called herself the Tempest, she was a ‘Tainted One’ too, and I saw her die. She wasn’t a god.”

“I believed it, then. When I was their weapon. I called myself a demigod.” Alexios kept staring at his hands. “All I know is that Myrrine isn’t wrong. Our blood… it does hold power, and there are those who will try and use it. And those that will hate us for it. The Order will have trouble working openly in Sparta. Too many people in power here are Eurypontid or Agiad, they have the blood. But even then, Kass is special.” He looked down at the table. “I promised her I wouldn’t threaten you.”

“I appreciate that.” He didn’t laugh, because it was so obvious to him that in many ways Alexios had the easily wounded pride of a much younger man. And he also respected the clear and obvious strength in the man’s arms and chest, the family resemblance between him and his sister.

“I hurt her, in ways you can’t imagine. What I took from her. And she forgave me for it.” He shook his head, stood. “If any of those bastards comes here I will make them die slowly. You and your son and your father are safe here. If I have to, I’ll kill Agis and Pleistoanax, if they’re working with the Order or the Cult.”

“Is that likely?”

“The Order directly? Pleistoanax is my cousin. I doubt they’d want a ‘Tainted One’ for an ally, even if he’s a King. They’d want to use the Cult, work through intermediaries. I don’t know if Pleistoanax would work with them, after what happened to Pausanias. Agis… the Eurypontid line descends from a shared ancestor. They’d be just as Tainted.” Alexios tensed up, his muscles standing out in cords, and the joints of his neck popped in succession. “But they’ve bent to pressure before. Kings are men.”

Natakas didn’t have much to say to that, so he changed direction.

“Do you think your mother will be awake soon? I want to check on Elpidios.”

“With all this yammering on?” Myrrine stepped out from behind a curtain leading into what was presumably her room, a freshly cleaned and dressed Elpidios in her arms. “He’s hungry. I was going to see if Myra had been to the goats yet.”

“I think she keeps some in the snow cellar.” Alexios said. “I’ll go check, if you want.”

“Yes, lamb.” There was a still, almost formal tenderness in how Myrrine spoke to Alexios. The man bowed slightly and moved quickly out of the room, either ignoring or not seeing the slight furrow on his mother’s face. She watched him go, then placed Elpidios in Natakas’ arms with surpassing gentleness. “He sleeps more readily than I was expecting.”

“Oh? He keeps us up most nights.”

“His mother didn’t know what sleep _was_ when she was his age.” She smiled at the memory. “We should get everything out now, before she wakes.”

“We should?”

“Your father’s recovery is going to be hard, if he recovers at all. We’ll have to change the dressings today. The good news is, they didn’t cut him deeply. But he bled. There’s nothing I can do about that. Even if Kassandra sends for the Argive doctor…” There was a shake of her head, and Natakas could _feel_ pain coming off of the woman at the words _Argive doctor_. “It’s not as if we can put the blood back in him.”

Rather than say anything, Natakas took the moment to smell his son’s head. The boy cooed and grabbed his nose, as he often did. The idea of his father dying seemed so impossible, but so did the idea of him surviving whatever they’d done to him.

“What about Kassandra?” Natakas finally pushed words out. “She was burned…”

“We heal quickly. Physically, she’ll be fine.” Myrrine’s eyes were hard, agates in her face. “I thought all night of what to say to you.”

“I’ve dreaded meeting you for months.” He regretfully extracted his nose from his son’s grip. “Kassandra painted a picture. Some of it was daunting.”

“I will be plain. We all suffered, what the Cult did to us. We’re all broken. Kassandra was alone, from the age of seven, she grew up in a shack on an island. She had no one for years. She found a way, found strength I couldn’t even imagine. She’s the one who came and found me. I thought her dead. I gave up on her.” Her voice didn’t quaver, her hands were flat and still on the table. “She lost a great deal. I don’t even want to think about what losing her son… or you… would do to her.”

He opened his mouth but she looked into his eyes and he didn’t speak.

“Do not protest. Do not tell me she would endure. I know she would. She would if I died, or if Alexios died. That is what Kassandra does, she endures. I’ve seen it, too many times. She has loved before you, and those loves ended, one way or another. I know she would endure. I am simply telling you not to make her endure it yet.” She stood up. “Does he like honeyed bread? I used to soak it in milk, they both loved it.”

“Kass only really weaned him a month or two ago, but I think she does feed him that. When I feed him I just soften it in water.”

“Milk and honey is better. Sometimes I made kykeon for them.” She busied herself pulling out an amphora and putting flour in a bowl. “I’m going to pull up some water, and go see if I can find Myra. Alexios should have come back by now.”

“I did.” He poked his head in the door. “But you were talking.”

“No milk?”

“Most of the snow’s melted, I didn’t think it was worth risking.” He stepped in with two jars in his hands. “I milked the goats.”

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

“Myra supervised.”

“By supervised, you mean she did it in front of you?”

“It was my idea.”

Natakas sat back and watched the two bicker. It was nice to see this picture of Kassandra’s family, to see how they were among themselves. Standing, he made sure Elpidios was secure in his arms.

“I’m going to see if Kass is awake.”

“She isn’t, but she’ll be glad to see you. She was trying hard to pretend she wasn’t frantic, but I knew. I remembered.” Myrrine was putting bread in milk. “I’ll have this ready when you’re done.”

As Myrrine had said, Kass was still asleep, her face still twisted up. But when Elpidios made a little cry on seeing her, her eyes flew open and the rictus softened. She pulled herself up to a sitting position and held out her arms, letting Natakas settle the baby into them.

“Hello, little man.” She brushed his head with her nose, laughed quietly when he grabbed at her nose. “Too slow, little lion cub.”

“He always catches mine.”

“I see it coming.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, released it raggedly. “I was afraid they’d found you. That I’d never see you both again.”

“Your mother is soaking bread for him.”

“Thank the gods, I wasn’t looking forward to having to go back.”

“Was he _that_ bad?”

“I would do it again if he needed… but yes. He lacks his father’s gentleness.” She looked up at him. “Why are you standing there? Plenty of room in bed for us both.”

“Your family are downstairs.”

“I just meant to _rest_.” She laughed at the look on his face. Her laugh was always beautiful, almost musical, and it made Elpidios laugh as well. “The little lion here wouldn’t let us get up to anything more even if I was able.”

“I was more thinking we might want to take him down to eat.”

“Oh. Yes. That makes sense.” She got to her feet holding the baby, which was impressive on its own. At nearly a year, Elipdios was already starting to grow real hair – he’d had a fine down when he’d been born, but had lost most of it around six months. It was always a surprise to see the changes, to watch his son become more and more a person. “How’s Darius?”

“Breathing.” He reached out an arm and brought her in, and she let him. “I’m still amazed you’re here. That you’re both here.”

“Yes.” She kissed the top of Elpidios’ head. “I hope you won’t blame me.”

“For?”

“I could have killed him.” She made a noise, muffled it against Elpidios. “He was _there_.”

“Who? My father?”

“No, no. Orontas. He was there. He was _leading_ them.” She looked up and met Natakas’ eyes. “He was Amorges.”


	4. Daughter of Ares

There were too many of them.

He’d taken an arrow to the leg, just to make sure he couldn’t run away, and then the two brutes were upon him. He supposed it wasn’t that surprising that they’d want revenge for the many of their fellows who’d died at his hands. Even that night, he’d killed quite enough.

They took their time. The one with the shield and the hammer asking questions while the one with two swords toyed with him. Slashing across his arm, his wounded thigh, his chest. A long, slow cut across the cheek, that metal mockery of a face inches from his.

“Tell us where the Eagle-Bearer and the child are and this can end.” The one with the hammer. He focused his eyes on the man, letting his teeth bare.

“You’re too late.” He could see Amorges over the thug’s shoulder, clearly agitated. He’d expected to find them by now, and that was enraging him. An angry Amorges was a rare thing after all these years and not to be wasted. Death, after all, could only happen once.

The one with the swords looked up to his master.

“You won’t talk, will you?”

“Of course not. You know me better than that.”

“I had hoped.” He dusted his hands off. “We have to find them before they get past our men. Kill him, and…”

Darius didn’t hear her. She’d improved – normally, as good as she was, she couldn’t sneak up on her. But this time, she came out of the shadows next to Amorges like a wraith and slashed with that half-spear, catching him high on the arm just above his shield. He tried to turn and she drove a foot into his chest with enough force to knock him off his perch and dropped on top of him, both blades in her hands, and he barely managed to roll away from her. His armor kept a slashing strike from cutting into his back.

“You want me?” Her voice was loud, deep, like the earth shaking. He had not heard her sound like it before. “Here I am.”

The one with the swords threw himself at her, seeking to peel her off of Amorges, to give him time to get his guard back up. The other brute, the one with the shield, turned and readied a charge.

Darius popped the blade on his forearm and drove it hard into his knee from behind, shearing the knee cap and making him crumple into the scorched grass. The arrow in his thigh ached but he rolled and lashed across the exposed skin of his throat, nearly hacking through the windpipe.

No arrows raked him. It explained why Kassandra had let it go so long – she’d been in the dark, taking the archers out one by one. Smart. Smarter would have been to leave him to his fate, but the girl was sentimental, much like Natakas, although she’d never admit it. Darius forced himself to stand, bleeding from cuts on every exposed inch of skin, blood soaking his clothing.

The Immortal with two swords was trying to push through Kassandra’s guard. He was almost as heavily armored as she was, but fast like an asp striking. He’d probably never fought anyone who could keep him from landing a strike, at least not for a very long time. But while Kassandra might have been a hair slower, she seemed to always know exactly when to cross her kopis and that half-spear of hers and send a strike bounding back, or to roll to the side. Still, he’d managed to get her attention and moved her away from Amorges.

Darius took a step. Then another. Amorges watched him. Both men remembering a lifetime gone, in a corridor, both so convinced they were right.

“I’ll find him.”

“I’ll kill you first.”

“You can barely stand.” Amorges tightened his grip on his sword. “I’ll make it quick.”

“I won’t.” Darius only had the blade on his forearm, while Amorges had a sword and shield. Darius’ clothes were ripped in a dozen places, while Amorges was in armor. Darius had bled the ground red under his feet, while Amorges had a single cut on his shield arm. But Darius knew what Amorges didn’t, yet.

He knew he didn’t have to so much as land a blow to win.

He just had to keep the man there long enough.

The first swords strike went for his wounded leg, but he managed to roll away from it, and kept Amorges from coming in too close with a wide slash of his arm.

“Remember in the corridor?”

“Hard to forget, with that present you left me.” A sweep of the shield. Darius threw himself under it, bit back a scream as the gash in his leg found rocks. Resorted to a punch to Amorges’ chest, felt his knuckles pop from the force, but Amorges staggered back. His face was a mask of calm over eyes that flashed with the old, old hate of that night.

“Remember how you didn’t even try to kill me?”

“Because I didn’t have to. I just had to…” His eyes widened.

To their left, Kassandra had tricked the Immortal into committing a full set of strikes on her, let one take her on the hip where the bronze and leather met. He pulled his arm back to try and strike with the other blade, and she stepped in and drove the half-spear into the underside of his chin and through his head. Blood and brains fountained out of the wound and she cut his head off with the kopis.

Darius let his leg collapse, no longer needing to stand. It didn’t matter anymore. Amorges would have to face her. The flames lit her from behind as she stepped over the corpse of the Immortal, a terror, an _Erinyes_ in orange and black.

Then he closed his eyes, expecting never to open them again.

Pain came before awareness did. He was on his back. The room he was in was lit by red sunlight, either dawn or dusk. He guessed dusk. There was a woman bent over him, he didn’t know her, but she was clearly stripping bloody cloth off of him.

“Good.” She had greying hair, a stern demeanor. The eyes, however, he recognized. They looked flinty in the light from outside. “I was worried I’d have to try and force feed you while you were unconscious.”

He tried to make sound but all that came out was a croak. His effort to stand was even more unsuccessful, he barely managed to thrash around.

“Stop that.” She looked over her shoulder. “Go tell Natakas his father is awake, for now. And put that broth I made back on the fire.”

*

Kassandra had felt the need to leave the house.

She hadn’t wanted to take Elpidios outside with her. In fact, she didn’t want to take Elpidios outside at all – the fewer who saw him, the better. Her armor had been so burned and slashed up that she’d accepted a set that Alexios brought for her. It was similar in make, leather and bronze, but this set had an armored shoulder and tall greaves, with an eagle on the chest. She’d looked at him searchingly.

“It’s hard to find gifts for you. I had it made when you told us about Elpidios.”

“You got me armor as a birthing gift?”

“I know you.” And he did, so she took it. Sometimes it was hard to take gifts from him, or look at him, or speak to him. Even now, years later, there were still moments of memory, of his face the way it had twisted in a sneer at Amphipolis. _You take everything so personally_.

Natakas had taken charge of their son. He’d offered to come with her, but she was adamant that at least one of them had to be with Elpidios at all times. Plus, she worried that they were being watched.

_If we are, someone saw him come in._

She stopped to feed and pat down Phobos. The big horse greeted her like nothing had happened. He’d been on the _Adrestia_ when Dyme burned, so for him, all that had happened was that he’d gone from Patrai to Sparta. She whispered in the big Makedonian’s ear and fed him one of the tart apples that grew near the house.

Her face hurt, but the burn was almost gone now.

She walked to the agora in a daze. She’d been back in Sparta since that night, of course – she’d stopped to visit a few times, had dinner with her mother and brother, and even Nikolaos and Stentor a few times. They weren’t close, but they were still family. But she hadn’t spent two nights in Sparta in four years.

The city was in a strange mood. After Amphipolis, a brief peace had been negotiated, but it had sat heavily on everyone. Despite the victory in Makedonia, Spartans felt like the war had been a loss because they’d failed to destroy Athens or even hobble their ability to make war. It was as if Sparta couldn’t accept anything less than total victory – the fact that Athens hadn’t won was less important than the fact that it hadn’t lost, either. Archidamos’ son Agis had almost gotten his house torn down by the populace for refusing to fight Argos the year before, but now he was the hero of Mantineia, and Sparta was getting its bluster back.

It felt like walking in a ghost’s track. She saw a stall that traded in pomegranates, one she’d frequented once upon a time. Of all the adjustments she’d had to make upon her first return to Sparta, the fact that no one in the city had money was always the strangest. Sparta didn’t use coins. Drachmae were valueless there. Back then, she’d always had to remember to bring some baubles to trade for the fruit, but she didn’t have a reason to get any now.

The person who ate it was dead.

It had been a while since these particular thoughts had pushed in on her. The past few years had occupied her. Elpidios was almost a year old, hair finally growing in.

She found herself under the statue of Leonidas, the one she’d met Pausanias at. Looked up at it. Wondered what he’d think of his great-grandson.

“No one told me the _Aresid_ would be here, or I’d have come sooner.”

“I wouldn’t have taken you for a gossip, my king.” The man speaking to Kassandra was typical for an Eurypontid – thick black beard slowly going grey, broad shoulders, large hands. He looked much like his father had, but thicker and more used to the march than the throne room. By the time Kassandra had known him, Archidamos had become used to sending others out to lead his armies, but with the loss of men like Nikolaos and Brasidas…

She was surprised to finally think the name.

“Oh? But everyone speaks of it. Can there be another explanation for you? Like Herakles, or Helen, you must have a mortal and immortal father both, and who else but Ares could sire a woman who could win entire provinces for Sparta?”

“That was ten years ago. Your father was still alive.” She shook her head. “I haven’t won any battles in quite some time.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Agis’ escort were maintaining a careful distance, and she wondered at it. She hadn’t really expected to see him – they’d only met a few times.

“How is the Queen, my King? And your son… I’m sorry, his name escapes me.”

“You don’t come home often enough. We’re the poorer for it.” He straightened, as if realizing he’d drifted close to her. “Timea is of course fine. Doting on little Leotychidas.”

There was a furrow to his forehead when he said that and Kassandra saw it. But it smoothed out as he looked at her again. She always felt uncomfortable around Agis, the Eurypontid with the Agiad name, and his attention felt odd to her.

“So, you dispute your divinity?”

“I am a woman, nothing more. Nikolaos is father enough for anyone.” _And I see no reason to tell you that my actual father lies dead inside the volcano at Thera, much less what his name was_.

“Indeed.” He stroked his beard with his right hand. “Your brother is doing his best to live up to his legacy. He was a great help at Mantineia.”

“Good. He has always lived to serve Sparta.”

“And you? Are you returning to us at last?”

“For now I’m just visiting with _mater_.” She gestured towards the statue. “And grandfather, of course.”

He nodded, turned to look up at the statue.

“You know, Pleistoanax never visits this.”

“Grandfather was his father’s uncle. Why would he?”

“Perhaps he’s nervous.”

“I can’t imagine why he would be.”

“No?” He stepped slightly closer. “Then let me make it plain. Were _I_ Pleistoanax, I would be very nervous indeed that Pleistarchus’ sister, has returned to Sparta with at least one child, and that child is rumored to be the daughter of a god. Very nervous indeed. Perhaps I would even do unwise things based on that.” He smiled at her. “But I’m not Pleistoanax.”

“Indeed, I often hear that said.” It finally occurred to her that Agis didn’t just want her for political reasons. The way he looked at her, the way he stood near her… she’d been expecting to deal with him as someone seeking an advantage, possibly to replace Timea and get himself an Agiad heir. It had simply never crossed her mind that Agis II actually _wanted_ her, not just for what she brought in his bloodline. It was such a surprise that she didn’t know how to reply to it. A few years earlier, and she’d have just told him not to waste his time. But with what he’d said about Pleistoanax… “I’m sure your fellow King has more important matters than a mere _misthios_.”

“You’re hardly a mere anything. Were you a man, you’d probably be sitting on that throne right now.”

“But I am not.” She decided to speak plainly. “I have no interest or desire to sit on any thrones.”

“Herakles never sat on a throne, either.” He pulled back slightly. “But without him, where would any of us be?”

“Up to our necks in multi-headed monsters, I suppose.” He laughed, and worse, it sounded genuine. Part of Kassandra very much didn’t like that she didn’t hate Agis. Hating him would be much easier.

“Come have dinner with me.”

“My King…” She looked to make sure his escort was far enough away. “You know full well why I can’t.”

“Please, Kassandra. My name is Agis. We both know I’m no more royal than you are. And we can’t speak like this. Eventually, someone will hear more than they should.” He made sure to keep clear of impropriety, and his eyes, while avid, did not ogle her. “Believe me when I say there are things you want to hear. You can bring Myrrine, if you’ll feel better about it.”

“I…” She closed her eyes for a moment. Bringing her _mater_ would at least make sure the rumors were kept to a minimum. If what he had to say about Pleistoanax was what she feared, she needed to know. “Very well. Agis. If you insist.”

“I do.” He smiled, and spread his hands wide. “I’ll have an escort come to your home… tomorrow night? Is that enough time?”

“It will have to be.” She squared her shoulders. _I have to take a risk here_. “I should get myself home. My son will likely be hungry.”

There was no narrowing of his eyes, no look of surprise. It was clear to her that he knew about Elpidios already. He just smiled genially and stepped away, towards the three _krypteia_ that followed his every step. She waited until he was well away from her to turn and hasten her way back to the house she’d once deposed a king to win back, her thoughts a blur.

 _Agis could be working for them. He knows about Elpidios. He might have already told them where to find us, this could be a trap. A trick to get me away so I can’t defend them. Maybe he thinks he can win me over. There are rumors about his wife, maybe he’s the same_. She kept herself tight, kept reaching out to Ikaros in the sky above her. The bird saw no one following her.

When she arrived back at the house, she was surprised to see Darius sitting up against the wall, drinking broth from a bowl held by Natakas. Elpidios was in… _Alexios_ ’ hands? As shocking as it was to see her almost father in law awake, seeing Xios with a smile on his face playing horse and rider with the baby on his knee hit her in the stomach like a fist.

“Look who’s awake.” Natakas called out to her. “He’s having a hard time speaking.”

“There was a lot of smoke.” She stepped to Alexios but waited, not sure she wanted to break the moment. Elpidios chose to break it for her, holding out his hands and making a shrill little squeal at the sight of her. She picked him up, very conscious of the armor she was wearing. “Is _mater_ home?”

“She went to visit Nikolaos and Stentor, see what they knew. Why?” Alexios gave her a look, but she’d invented that look and she gave it right back.

“She and I have been invited to dinner. With Agis.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I have alluded to Agis II wanting Kassandra in a few of the other stories, so I figured it was time to deal with that and see if I can make Agis interesting. In actual history, Agis II's son by his wife Timea was rumored to be the result of an affair she had with Alcibiades, and as a result, Ageisilaus became King after Agis died instead of Leotychidas. Just weird things you find out while working on a fic, I suppose.


	5. No two the same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kassandra and Natakas finally have a talk, the Krypteia show up, and the most awkward party conversation starts

No two people ever felt the same to her.

Her first memory of need was Anais, who had been two years her elder – Anais, who smiled at the feral girl, who thought her something worth knowing. So few had, back then. Most saw her as Markos’ half-savage pet, or a brutal thing best avoided. Anais saw her at her worse – saw her slashing a man’s fingers off, saw her beaten half dead by a pack of older boys and yet defiant, and had found something in it worthwhile.

Not worthwhile enough to keep, of course. Anais had traded nights together in a field under the stars for security in Arkadia, the glide of thigh against thigh, the warmth of her fingers sliding into Anais slowly… she’d traded that for a farm and a husband Kassandra never even met.

Anais had been her first. There had been others – a shepherd on Mount Ainos named Teukros, a stubborn girl from Megaris named Odessa who’d even served on the _Adrestia_ for a time. Then the more serious ones – Daphnae, the priestess of Artemis who’d chosen her goddess over Kassandra, Kyra, the rebel turned Archon of Mykonos whose lover Thaletas had tried to kill Kass over the affair the two women had engaged in. Killing him had ruined it for Kassandra, knowing that telling Kyra the truth would break her.

And of course, there was Brasidas.

She’d loved him. She’d been willing to marry him, in the end. Too late to actually _do_ it, and that haunted her, as did the memory of him – his bluff laugh, his calloused hands as gentle as they could be as they slid down her flanks to rest on her hips. The way his beard felt when they kissed. Their last night together, before the battle at Amphipolis, squeezing him with her legs so tightly that she’d left bruises. He’d smiled fondly when he’d seen them that morning as they strapped on their armor for the battle that was coming.

Now, she lay in the dark panting, aching slightly at the feel of Natakas inside of her, his softer, gentler hands cradling her back. He kissed her, his stubble against her chin as their lips met. The baby was blessedly asleep in Myrrine’s room, but they were still trying so hard to be quiet. He trailed down her throat, kissing her in one spot that made her whole body pulse. She bit down on her lip to keep her voice in.

“What brought this on?” He whispered against her skin.

“We haven’t… not since Dyme.” She took time to catch a bit of breath. “And really, with Elpidios getting more active, not for a while before.”

“I’ve neglected you.”

“Never that. But with _mater_ here…” She looked down at him but couldn’t see his features in the dark, the moon not visible from the window. She didn’t want to tell him that Darius wasn’t great at keeping his only grandson in check, and the fact was, at a year old Elpidios was developing into someone who _needed_ to be kept in check. He was, after all, her son. “Are you complaining?”

“I am not a fool.” His smile was in his voice as he stretched out. She rolled off, letting her hand graze him as he slid out. “But I always want to know what you’re thinking.”

There was a small tearing in her at that, remembering his face on the beach as she’d shoved him onto the boat. Placed their son in his hands. She wondered what her face had looked like in that moment.

“You can always ask.”

“Not always.” He stretched again, leaned more into her as she shifted herself to be half on him. Despite his slender build, his chest and abdomen were well defined, with firm muscle. He reminded her a little of Daphnae, who also preferred the bow to fighting with swords or spears.

“What do you mean?”

“Kass…” He turned his head. “I was sure you were dead.”

“I’m not.”

“But someday… when you came back to Dyme, before Elpidios… we talked. You said things. I haven’t pushed you on them since.” She wished the room wasn’t so dark. As good as her eyes were, she needed _some_ light to see, and they were wrapped in shadow. “I know why this king wants you to have dinner with him.”

“I’m not trying to hide that.”

“That’s not… I’m no king. I’m not even _Greek_.” His head was tilted back, looking up at the ceiling. “There are words we don’t say to each other.”

Her mouth was very dry. Before Elpdios, she’d have sought out a kylix of unwatered wine for it – like most Spartans, Kassandra had a taste for drink and a capacity for it. But since finding out about the son inside her, she’d tapered off, drinking a little water and wine together once in a while. At the moment, she very much wanted to give Dionysos his due.

“We’re not married.” Natakas’ voice was even quieter now, as if he was forcing the whisper out. “I don’t…”

“I love you.” Even in the dark she could see the sudden jerk of his head as he tried to see her face. “Nataki, I didn’t stay with you just because of Elpidios. I had Elpidios because of you.” She swallowed to try and moisten her throat, her mouth. I don’t want Agis. He’s attractive enough, but the last thing I want is a Spartan. I…”

There was a moment of hesitation, but she pushed through that. He said he wanted to know what she was thinking, and hesitation only hastens the grave.

“I was no virgin when we met. You know this.”

“Nor was I. That’s not…”

“Do you love me, Nataki?”

“Yes, of course… oh.” The tone of his voice was sheepish. “I say it so often in my head, I didn’t realize I didn’t say it back now. Yes, Kass. I often feel utterly unworth you, but yes.”

“Before you… there were those that rejected me, or left me, or that I couldn’t have. It happens. Everyone has their reasons. Sometimes I understood, and sometimes I made the decision to leave. But before I met you… I told you, a little. About him.”

“You told me that you still loved him.”

“I always _will_ love him.” She wasn’t much for praying, but she did then, the second time in two weeks. “Can you understand that? That I can love you, and what we have, and our son, and still love him? Even though he’s dead? He was my friend before he was my lover, he wanted to make me his wife… and I mourn him, and I mourn what I lost when he died, and it doesn’t mean I don’t want this. It makes me afraid I’ll lose this, that I’ll lose everything again. But it doesn’t make it less.”

He was quiet just long enough for her to feel the ice along her spine before his hand found her neck, and his lips gently touched hers.

“I don’t know how it feels. I was never with anyone that way before I met you. Never that deeply, always on the run, moving to keep alive.” The words were carried with his breath, his face so close to hers she could almost taste herself on them. “But I don’t need to _know_ it. I can’t say I’m sorry you’re with me, but I am sorry you had to have that kind of loss. I know how loss is.”

“Yes.” Her breathing was a little easier.

“You can talk to me about him if you want.”

“He was… Sparta has many cruel, awful sides to it. But Brasidas was all of its best. He was brave, and smart, cunning and capable, and surprisingly funny when he wanted to be. A talented warrior. A better strategist than I’ll ever be.” She laughed, feeling her whole body slowly releasing the taut muscles she’d been holding tense. Bracing for a blow. “Even if I weren’t… there is no one in Sparta who can be as Spartan as he was. No one would wouldn’t just end up seeming less. When I met you, I wasn’t looking… but you’re _you_ , you’re not some pale reflection of a dead man. You’re you.”

He was hard against her hip and she very slowly and deliberately rubbed herself against him, enjoying the way he pressed his mouth into her to keep quiet. Her hand slid down to trace along him.

“Again?”

“Like you said. It has been a while.” His voice quivered. Her lips curled back, victory in them. She slid her leg over him, straddling his abdomen. Let herself lightly touch him with the muscles of her cheeks. Felt him hiss.

“Then let’s not waste what little time we have left before everyone gets up.”

*

There were five of them, and they were very quiet. _Krypteia_ , trained from childhood, punished and starved if they failed. Stalkers in the night. Usually keepers of the peace. Their leader was named Xanthos. He held his men to iron discipline.

“Report.”

“The Agiad have departed.” Pailios kept his voice down, as was second nature to them, instilled with a thousand savage beatings. “I admit, they were… impressive.” He straightened up at Xanthos’ hard stare. “A daughter and granddaught of Leonidas? You felt nothing?”

“Leonidas is dead. I spare my feelings for the living. What about the others?”

“Nikolaos is escorting Myrrine, and _Strategos_ Stentor is escorting his sister.”

“Good.” Xanthos had killed Spartans, of course. They all had. It was one of the reasons the _Krypteia_ existed, to kill any who threatened the order of things. “What about…”

“He left before they did. Headed west. We’ve tracked him there before, there’s a man, former soldier. Lost his leg at…”

“Fine.” Discussing the brother made Xanthos uneasy. They’d all heard rumors of Deimos, the unstoppable warrior who’d brought ruin to Pylos. Better this business would be concluded without him there. “You all know what to do. There are two Persian men and a baby in the house. Killing the baby is not allowed – he wants it alive. But the two Persians he wants dead.”

Nods all around.

They waited for dark to fully fall. By then, the Agiad would have arrived at Agis’ house. He wondered how Queen Timaea was greeting the woman her husband wanted to replace her with, but that wasn’t his issue. He had his orders and he meant to carry them out.

Once darkness shrouded the courtyard of Myrrine’s home, the five of them made their way in silence. Quiet was as natural as breathing to them. They didn’t try to enter through the front door, instead finding the upper room where the healthier of the two Persians polluted the Agiad bloodline. There was a window, one large enough for a man to squeeze through, if he knew how to be quiet and could control his breathing. Xanthos went through first, making sure no one heard him. The Persian was not present, the room empty.

Only once all five were inside did they draw their blades.

*

Kassandra was surprised that she didn’t entirely hate the evening.

She was wearing one of Myrrine’s Peplos, altered in a day by her mother’s servant Myra to hang over one shoulder. It was as red as wine, and it barely fit her – she was both taller and more muscled than her mother, after all. Timaea had complimented it and then launched into a story that she was still telling.

“…and then, Allie said, _‘You’ve never used an olisbos?’_ which I had not, and…”

“Allie? Kassandra had a _kylix_ in her hand and spoke before thinking better of it. “Alkibiades? The Athenian?”

“Yes, he came here after Amphipolis, part of the truce party. You know him?” There was a slightly knowing look to Timaea’s face and Kassandra opted to try and disarm with honesty.

“I’ve met him, but we’ve never used an _olisbos.”_

“Your loss. He’s an artist.” Kassandra wanted to ask so, so many questions. Timaea didn’t seem even remotely embarrassed by the tacit admission that she’d fucked an Athenian _Strategos_ , much less the nephew of Pericles himself. “Not that Agis doesn’t have his merits, but he’s so _stolid_. He needs to learn to live a little. Perhaps you can help him with that?”

Behind her, Kass could hear Myrrine choking on her wine. Her own face managed to maintain a bemused quirk to the lip which could be taken for a smile if one wanted to. She looked across the room to where Agis was talking to Nikolaos and Stentor, not so much as giving his wife and the woman he wanted to either sleep with or replace her with a sidelong look.

“ _Mater?_ ” She decided to turn to her mother. “Are you well?”

“Fine. When are we eating?”

“Oh, soon, soon.” Timaea didn’t seem to notice the discomfort on her guests’ faces, or didn’t care. “I checked on little Leotychidas, he’s asleep. I heard that congratulations are in order for you, Kassandra?”

“Yes.” Kass had expected the gossip to have reached them by now. “How old is your son?”

“Leo is two and a half this spring. And yours…”

“Elpidios just turned one.” It was strange to feel genuine warmth from Timaea. She was a lovely woman – lustrous dark hair, the typical Spartan athletic build although she was a head shorter than Kassandra. Her graceful neck had a golden pectoral beneath it, an old piece of hammered gold with a scene of Perseus and Andomeda on it.

“They’re so darling at that age. Leo is becoming such a handful. Spoiled little prince. Like his father, really.” The knowing smile was back on Timaea’s face as she toyed with the gold around her neck. Kassandra lacked direct experience of this kind of talk, but she’d been around to enough places in her life and met different clients of different social standing, from a symposium at Pericles’ house to the home of the leader of Gortyn. And she knew Alkibiades well enough to know what his interest in Timaea would have been, even without the _olisbos_ joke. Indeed, it felt like Timaea had wanted her to know with so blatant an opening. “When will we meet your little one? After all, he’s in line after Pleistoanax.”

“I’m sure his son…”

“If that shaved ape is Pleistoanax’s son, I’m Hestia.” Timaea’s smile got wider. “But enough, let me gather my husband and we’ll eat, before our servants despair of us ever touching their food.” Timaea swept away like a graceful storm, leaving Kassandra to incline her head towards her mother.

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know, but that’s not a woman who fears being put aside for another.”

“I agree. She did feel sincere when she asked about Elpidios.”

“Or she’s a better liar than it seems.” They were almost to the others. “I’ll watch her.”

“Sooner this is over, the better.” Kassandra thought on her son, on his father, and wondered how things were back at the house.

*

There was a fire in the hearth providing dim light. They crept down the stairs, making sure no sound was made – no loose stones kicked, no creaks, nothing that could alert those below. Sitting near the fire was a man in damp, herb soaked cloth and wrapped arms and legs, being tended to by another man. Both were clearly Persian. Xanthos remembered tales his own father had told about the war.

He drew back his hand, judging the distance. A throw from there would take the younger man in the throat.

There was the slightest sound behind him and he turned, prepared to show his irritation, and barely managed to evade a sword strike.

Two of his _krypteia_ were dead and the other two had no more seen or heard this man than he had. Tall, broad shouldered, his hair tied back with several beaded braids, he was wearing a leather breastplate and bronze greaves over sandals and the sword in his hands gleamed in a golden arc in the dim firelight.

The Persian by the fire stood and revealed a bow he’d kept hidden by his side and fired, taking Pailos in the throat, but Xanthos couldn’t waste time on it. He and Koalemos were hard pressed fighting two on one against the swordsman, their daggers completely incapable of getting past that sword to strike at the man’s flesh.

So occupied, Koalemos didn’t see the arrow until it was too late. He just barely managed to turn it into a grazing hit on his temple, and didn’t have time to avoid that sword, which sheared him open to his groin, leaving him bleeding on the floor.

“ _Mater_ will be displeased.” The sword kept lashing out at Xanthos, forcing him down the stairs. “She’ll probably make me clean that up.”

The sword took the dagger out of Xanthos’ hand with a savage strike that managed to not even touch his fingers, simply wrenching the blade out of his grip by main strength. Then a fist crashed into the side of his skull, sending him sprawling to the ground.

“They were well trained.” Alexios said through bared teeth. “It was hard to keep them from hearing me follow them in.”

“What do we do with this one?” Natakas asked. Behind him, Darius kept Elpidios in the crook of his arms, his singed beard a plaything in the boy’s fists. He looked up and his voice, still smoke damaged, rasped into the room.

“I suspect your brother in law wants to ask him some questions.”

“Indeed I do.” Alexios’ smile was full of teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not much for writing parties or dinner gatherings or so on, so hopefully this one wasn't too bad.


	6. Dinner at Agis' Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agis finally gets to the point

None of them had expected Agis’ other guests until they arrived.

Pleistoanax was the son of Pausanias, son of Cleombrotus, who was the brother of Myrrine’s father Leonidas. As such, he was their cousin. He’d named his son after his father, who had been disgraced for supposedly plotting to betray Sparta to the Persians. They’d had to starve him out of the temple of Athena Chalkioikos and he’d died before the Ephors could judge him.

He had the Agiad look, with a beard and hair in the typical Spartan fashion, and he wore the typical red exomis and chalmys of a hoplite, despite not having led an army in quite a long while. There was a harried look to the man, and he stopped short at the door with his three _krypteia_ escorts upon seeing Myrrine and Kassandra in the room.

“Ho, Pleistoanax.” Agis spoke as he walked to clasp arms with his fellow king. “I hope you like your surprise. I thought I would unite all the line of Anaxandridas under my roof.”

“And so you have succeeded, as you do at many things, my king.”

“Would you have wine? Timaea, have some wine brought for our guest.” Agis turned to where Myrrine stood. “Some wine, Myrrine?”

“Not for now, my king.” Myrrine regarded Pleistoanax with eyes like a hawk. He’d been on Mount Taygetos alongside Archidamos when her whole life had seemingly ended. “Cousin.”

Kassandra felt the air in the room seethe. But she was surprised by Pleistoanax meeting Myrrine’s gaze evenly.

“I was sorry about Gorgo. She was… truly, the most remarkable woman I ever knew.” He turned his head slightly to the left, and his eyes met Kassandra’s. She had been braced for a lot of possibilities – hostility, hatred, fear, contempt. But what she saw there was weariness and wariness mixed like water in wine, his agate brown eyes framed by lines cut into his face by life. Pleistoanax could well be an excellent actor, but Kassandra felt sure that it was less outrage or hatred she saw there than exhaustion and caution. “Kassandra. We’ve never actually spoken.”

“No, my king.”

“I’m sure Agis has told you not to call him that. If not for him, then even less for me.” He took the kylix from Timaea, who had herself taken it from one of her many richly dressed servants. “Thank you, my dear. You look lovely as always.”

“Come, sit. We’ll be eating soon.” Timaea had a disarming way of pretending not to notice the tension all around her. Kassandra, however, found herself distracted. So distracted, in fact, that she hardly noticed that she was alone in the room with Agis until she looked up from her thoughts about Pleistoanax.

“And how are you, Aresid?”

“Please stop calling me that.” She straightened. She’d come unarmed, because while Sparta was certainly not Athens, the idea of an unmarried woman bringing arms to the residence of a King was probably too much. Agis kept his distance though, his eyes fixed on the door into the main room.

“Timaea speaks highly of you.”

“May I ask you a question? Just… no games, for once?” She shook her head at what she was saying, but she was haunted by the look in Pleistoanax’s eyes.

“It’s hard for me to say yes. What you call games, I call necessity. But I’ll try.”

“What do you actually _want_ from me, Agis?” She turned to face him fully. “Your wife mentioned my son, so I know you know I have one. His father… we’re not married, and we may never be married. I don’t know. But I’m not interested in taking Timaea’s place.”

“Why would you take her place? She’s a superb wife. She reads people better than I do. Look at how she keeps that Athenian popinjay darting around.” He kept the distance between them, looking straight at her. “No, I’d never do away with Timaea.”

“Then what? A mistress? You have Leotychidas, you don’t need a bastard, even if it would be an Agiad bastard.”

“I thought you’d know by my mention of Anaxandridas.”

“I…” She’d only been educated in Sparta for a few years before that night on Mount Taygetos, but Anaxandridas was her great-grandfather, so she knew enough to finally make the connection. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why not?”

“You want _two wives_?”

“Yes.” He nodded as if this was the most natural thing in the world. “Timaea has her lovers. The popinjay is just one of them. I’ve had a few myself. But I mostly think of the future. Sparta has to change. You see it, it’s why you stay away so much. Look at what happened to Pleistoanax’s father. He led the victory at Plataea, and what did he get? Exile and then death. Your grandfather was a hero, but he _failed_. Of course he did! He sacrificed himself to bring Sparta full into the war, but it was Pausanias who beat the Persians at Plataea. But he wanted to free the Helots and he liked luxury, so he had to die.”

“And how will this _insane_ plan of yours to take me as your second wife change that?”

“Because the people already think you a demigod, Kassandra.” He finally stepped a little closer. “I admit it, once I met you? I wanted you. But even before that… together, we can weld the Eurypontid and Agiad together. No more constant squabbles, no more battles and plots and counterplots. I beat the Athenians three times, and because I didn’t burn Athens down, they were threatening to tear down my house after my second victory. Sparta only loves her King when he dies.”

“This is madness.”

“No, Kassandra. This is Sparta.” He smiled, but his eyes were sad, and for the first time since she’d met him Kassandra thought she might be seeing the real Agis. “I don’t care about you and your child’s father. Keep him, I don’t care. Stay at Myrrine’s house, or get your own. Leotychidas is already my heir, and you’ve produced an Agiad one. You don’t even have to lie with me, although I’ll admit, now that I’ve seen you I find that profoundly disappointing.”

“And if I say no?”

“Aresid, I’m not a fool. Pausanias the younger thought he could dispose of you, and he’s the one who ended up dead.” He held out his hand. “Shall we go in to dinner? People will start to notice.”

 _You know full well they already have_. She didn’t take his hand, but she followed him inside, wishing she had her grandfather’s broken spear in her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one, but there's medical stuff and my day job meaning I can only do so much, and i wanted to show where things were going with the whole political intrigue subplot


	7. The lesson of Orestes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexios interrogates, Kassandra talks with a king

Barnabas led several of the crew into the house. He nodded to Alexios, who had spent enough time on the _Adrestia_ to at least understand the man’s competence, as much as he hid it beneath a veneer of garrulity.

“How many?”

“Four dead.” Alexios felt the pressure of the spear strapped to his back. It was an unwelcome thing. Oh, he could use it, but it was Kassandra’s as far as he was concerned. He preferred his sword, forged by the same makers and without all the familial obligations. “One tied up. Natakas is watching him.”

“You left Natakas alone with a _krypteia_?” Even while Barnabas’ eyes goggled in horror, his men were gathering up the bodies. They’d cover them and take them down to Gytheion under cover of darkness, where they’d end up in the bellies of sharks. In the corner of the room, despite his burns and the marks of being slashed slowly and methodically on his arms and face and chest, Darius sat cradling his grandson, letting the child sleep in his arms. Alexios forced himself to look away to meet Barnabas’ remaining eye.

“He can handle him.”

“Pff.” Barnabas straightened up. “Do you want me to leave any of the crew here?”

“No. Get them disposed of. And be ready. We may all show up suddenly and we’ll need the ship ready to go. It depends on what Kassandra learns.”

After Barnabas nodded and left, Alexios stopped before heading upstairs. He could feel Darius’ eyes on him, like a hawk, or that eagle Kass kept as something akin to a pet. The animal her professional name had come from, _eagle bearer_. He forced himself to meet that stare.

“You’re very like her.” His voice was still weak, his throat scraped by breathing smoke. Plus, the baby was sleeping. But Alexios heard him fine.

“A bad copy of her.” The old man didn’t respond. Alexios found him deeply disconcerting, but as he was the grandfather of Alexios’ nephew, a certain amount of respect was in order. “I’ll send Natakas down while I question our friend.”

“He won’t tell you anything.”

“I can be persuasive.” He took a step, then stopped. “But you’re right. It’s what he refuses to tell me that I’m interested in.”

Up the stairs, he found Natakas pointing his bow at the man, who was bound hands and feet. It was a sensible precaution. _Krypteia_ were Sparta’s Hidden Ones, shadows in the night, killers for the country. The fact that five of them had come to kill people in their house meant that one of the two kings wanted them dead.

“Go see to your son and your father.” Alexios tried to sound reassuring. He didn’t do it often, and Natakas didn’t look reassured, but he nodded and descended to the ground floor. Alexios squatted, looming over the captive. “So. Here we are.”

Again no response. Alexios was starting to take it personally.

“That’s fine. You don’t have to talk.” He stood, and walked to the window, opened it. “Moon’s a crescent tonight. Like a scythe taking wheat. Neither of us know much about that, I would gamble.”

Not even a grunt from the man on the floor. Alexios waited, patient. He could hear the subtle flexing of muscle, the testing of bindings. By now he had his hands free. He waited until he could hear the rope slide off of the man’s feet, the scrape of palms against the floor.

Then he whirled, his foot taking the krypteia hard in the gut before he was in position to attack. His hand closed on the half-spear sheathed to his back and he moved, holding the man by the hair, the broad blade against his throat.

“Yes, I know. You’re a wolf among sheep here. But you’ve picked the wrong flock. We aren’t sheep. We’re lions, and you were dead the moment they sent you to me.” He brought the blade up, the keen edge drawing blood as it pressed into his skin. “Who sent you, hidden one?”

“Go to Hades.”

“I expect I will when Thanatos comes for me.” He remembered beating a sculptor to death on one of his sculptures, demanding answers for the Cult, and the revulsion of it, of how _good_ it had felt, it made him quiver and swallow. “I watched you all come in. You didn’t even know I was there. So much for the stalkers of the night, a bunch of bullocks stumbling about. You came in through that window I just opened and didn’t even notice me close it behind you.”

There was a test of his grip that relented as soon as the spear went a bit deeper into his throat, not enough to open it, just enough to be felt.

“You walked right past that.” He turned the krypteia in his arms, pointed him at the crib. “Didn’t even look in it. If you were sent to kill the child, you’d have _looked_. So I think you were here for someone else. Two someones? The Persians?”

The cords in his captive’s neck tightened.

“Pleistoanax might hate us enough to send you, but he would want that child dead as much as the rest of us, if he did.” Alexios laughed in the man’s ear. “And the thing is, I knew you were following me. When you sent that oaf to shadow me to Pitana, I almost laughed in relief. So easy to lead you about by the nose. Does Agis really select men this poorly?”

The revelation was in the lack of any further tensing. He didn’t care what Alexios said about Agis. He didn’t _serve_ Agis, not really.

“Ah.”

“You might as well kill me now.”

“Why would I do that?” Alexios released him. “After all, you can’t report back to the Kings, because neither of them sent you.”

The suspicion in the _krypteia_ ’s face, the narrowed eyes, the furrowed brow. Alexios knew weakness, and knew when to leap on it.

“Please. You were likely brought in by Pausanias. He had a penchant for removing those _krypteia_ loyal to Archidamos, and replacing them with Cult members. You think I don’t know? Boy, do you even know who I am?” He leaned in, his face a sneer. “You’re talking to _Deimos_.”

*

If speaking to Agis had been confusing, being seated between Myrrine and Pleistoanax was dreadful.

If Myrrine’s stares were daggers, Pleistoanax would have been a perforated corpse on the ground. If he noticed them, he didn’t react, instead drinking heavily from a kylix that Timaea kept full with little glances to the servants. For all that they were eating in the presence of two kings, the table and the room wasn’t that much grander than Myrrine’s home, or the home Brasidas had lived in.

A brief memory of eating at his table came and she smiled. Despite the pain, it was good to finally be able to just _remember_ him. To not feel guilty. Having told Natakas about him, having _admitted_ how she felt meant it no longer felt like a betrayal.

The meal was well prepared. Thankfully there was no black soup. There were ducks, chicken and a roast pig, as well as sausages likely made from a heifer, and of course a selection of olives, baked _maza_ , and some barley bread. Kassandra usually ate with verve – she’d amazed Natakas one time by eating an entire chicken before he could finish a leg – but tonight she mostly ate a few bites to look like she was enjoying it while keeping herself occupied studying the room.

Agis was watching her from his seat next to Timaea, who was also watching her, although she did a better job at looking every inch the hostess. Stentor was glowering at Agis while trying not to _look_ like he was, in essence, disapproving of his king. Nikolaos and Myrrine were, on the surface, presenting a united front. Kassandra had no idea what was going on with them – after twenty years apart living very different lives, they’d managed to create a polite fiction of reconciliation, but she had no idea what they were thinking beneath that.

And Pleistoanax kept drinking.

After they’d all eaten and drank for a while, Kassandra could feel Pleistoanax shift in his seat, and then, once Agis was occupied telling a slightly frivolous story of his victory at Mantineia, leaned himself close to her ear.

“Did he suffer?” She didn’t ask who. She turned to look at him, at the red rimmed eyes, the slight swaying in his seat. He’d drunk himself into a state, but he wasn’t being loud or aggressive. Indeed, he was more folded in on himself. She considered her response carefully.

“Did you know? About the prophecy, that night on Taygetos?”

“Yes, of course I did.” She had to hand it to him, he was brave, even if Dionysos was holding him up to admit that next to her. There were several knives in easy reach. “I feared it. I feared it would be me, if I objected. But I also knew it would doom us. When I saw you go over… I was relieved. I forgot the tale of Orestes. I wanted revenge for my father, for the way they destroyed him. He saved Greece. Leonidas? What did Leonidas do but die?” He looked at his empty kylix, then back up to her. “Pausanias beat the Persians. He won at Plataea. And they destroyed him. So yes, I knew. And I did nothing. I let them have their way.”

Hearing it sent heat and cold in waves through her. Her hand felt so very empty. There were carving knives on the table, it would be the work of a moment to take one up and drive it into Pleistoanax’s brain through his eye.

“It was quick.” Her voice felt like it must be booming, but no one looked up, no one even interrupted their conversations. “He didn’t suffer.”

“Will I?”

“I don’t care about you.” She made sure he was looking at her, their faces close enough to smell the wine on his breath. Myrrine had clearly noticed that they were speaking but couldn’t hear them over Agis. “If you do something foolish… so don’t do anything foolish. I’ve had my taste of how Sparta treats her Kings. Do you really think I want to be you?” She shook her head slightly. “Leave us be, and I’ll consider it over between us.”

His wine-bleary eyes drooped as he looked at the table for a moment. She was about to turn away from him when he straightened.

“They’re in Messenia.”

“What?”

“They contacted me. The Cult. You’ve killed so many, they needed new recruits. I played willing. They have a new ally, Persians. I’m many things, but I don’t forget. They’re in Messenia, building weapons. Getting ready to strike.” He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “For whatever it’s worth, I regret it. All of it. It cost me my son.”

Her hand itched. There was a knife so close.

“Let’s just avoid each other from now on, my king. I really think it would be best.” She lifted her own kylix, drank. “But thank you for telling me.”

*

By the time they extricated themselves and walked home, Kassandra had outlined for Myrrine and Nikolaos what Agis had proposed.

“Audacious. But not without precedent. As he said, they let Anaxadridas do it.” Myrrine spoke evenly.

“Completely out of the question.” Nikolaos growled.

“Oh?” Myrrine raised both eyebrows.

“Kassandra already has a son, she’s made her choice. For him to propose this… and for her to be _second_!” Kassandra had no idea what to do with this side of Nikolaos, the strangely protective and also offended side of him. “It would be one thing if he was going to put Timaea aside because the Athenian’s son will never be accepted…”

“That’s just a rumor.”

“She’s been openly, _brazenly_ …”

“Ahem.” Kassandra cleared her throat. “I haven’t said yes to him. For one thing, as _pater_ points out, I have Natakas.” She decided to force the issue. “And yes, I did not ask you, and yes, I may well take him as my husband, and I will not be living here in Sparta. Besides, as interesting as what Agis said, Pleistoanax said something more important.” They were approaching the house, and stepped inside while Kassandra was still speaking.

“There you are.” Alexios growled. “They’re in Messenia.”

“I was _just about to tell them that_!” Kassandra shook her head. “Wait, how did you find out?”

“Oh, they sent five _krypteia_ here to kill your Persians.” He handed her the half-spear. “I killed four and interrogated the fifth. I offered to let him go, but he slit his own throat after he told me what I wanted to know. Wait, how did _you_ find out?”

“Pleistoanax told me.” She looked past her brother to where Natakas was standing, then stepped to embrace him. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you? Where is Elpidios?”

“Down here.” Darius croaked. He held up the squirming bundle, smelling freshly washed. Kassandra was frankly amazed he could move his arms, but it didn’t stop her from taking her son.

“We’re fine, Kass.” Natakas managed to enfold both his woman and his child in his arms and she leaned into it, relaxing at last. “So, it was an eventful night for us all.”

“Not every night a King asks me to be his second wife, no.”

“Wait, what?”

“Oh, don’t worry, he’ll let me keep you. He was very generous.” She barked a laugh. “He just wants me to help him completely change Sparta’s way of life and, if I wanted, I could bear him a son but I don’t _have_ to.”

“I…” Natakas tried very hard to not be shocked by things Kassandra said. This time wasn’t easy.

“So.” She looked up at him, and then over at her brother. “Messenia.”

“Yes.” Alexios nodded. Both of them had memories of that place… of Pylos, of a burning battlefield, and the two of them locked in combat. “I can…”

“No. Not alone. The _Adrestia_ can get us in and out faster than any other ship on the Aegean or Ionian, and…” She bent down and kissed her son on the head. “The sooner this is over, the sooner I can take Natakas and Elpidios and escape somewhere they’ll never find us.”


	8. The Tusk of Persia

Amorges saw the flames and knew.

When he’d attacked Dyme, he’d brought everyone who he could spare, as much of the might of the Order of the Ancients as could be found and moved. The Order was a chimera, a many headed beast – as important as he was to them, he was hardly the supreme leader, if it could even be said that there was one. But regardless, he’d brought an overwhelming force to Dyme.

And the Tainted One still escaped.

He had a new scar on his hip from the encounter, and he knew that the only reason he’d survived it was that she turned from slaughtering his men to save Darius. That bothered him. Truthfully, he found Pactyas’ approach to Tainted Ones distasteful. Amorges was many things – brutal when necessary, ruthless in the pursuit of the protection of Persia – but much of what he saw others do informed his actions. Brutality for its own sake was not his way. Had he not stepped into the path of a lifelong friend when that friend chose to do something immoral? Artaxerxes hadn’t done anything, killing him for what he _might_ do…

And so too with Tainted Ones. Amorges had saved Philla, had raised her up as the Tempest for that very reason. Tainted Ones didn’t choose what they were. The power they wielded, it rose up in their blood. Kings and peasants, the blood didn’t play favorites. He knew some Greeks believed the Tainted Ones to be Demigods or Heroes, and Pactyas had always argued they were unnatural. Either or both might be true. But Amorges knew this much – he _had_ to keep them under control, keep them from using their vast power to destroy his people. That didn’t mean he had to kill them.

After the Tempest died, after he’d met and ‘worked’ with Kassandra, Amorges had spent over a year observing her through his agents. He’d watched Dyme, watched her settle into a domestic life. Thought long and hard about what he should do, to protect Persia.

 _It was Artabanus’ presence that tripped you_.

He’d wanted revenge too much. It had blinded him, made him reckless. He’d thrown everything at them, and they’d escaped. He’d prodded his temporary allies in the Cult of Kosmos, but nothing had come of it – their agents in Sparta failed to capture the boy and were never heard from again, and the _Adrestia_ pulled out of Gytheion the next day. From there, it seemed to fall off of the face of the world – No one saw them on the waves, no one reported them anywhere he had eyes watching.

Then the disappearances began. His top people, vanishing one by one. His soldiers found dead. Their supplies burned. Gergis, his chief scribe, found dead on a cliff. And now, the Temple of Zeus in Messenia where he’d fallen back to plan his next move burned around him.

The two of the stalked out of the flames and ruin, incarnations of what Pactyas had always feared. _You will burn this world. We must burn you first._ Pactyas always forgot that fire could be banked, could be tended. Was it destructive? Yes, and only a fool disrespected its power. But that didn’t make extinguishing all fires everywhere the answer. If only they’d found the child…

“It’s over.” Kassandra spoke, a long dagger in her left hand, that strange half-spear with the even stranger blade in the right. They were crossed lightly in front of her. On the other side of him, menacing his shield side, a tall man with an obvious family resemblance held a sword in a hand with white knuckles. “Your Order is destroyed.”

“You can kill men, you can burn supplies, but you can’t kill the Order. You can’t kill an _idea_.”

“That’s what your scribe told me.” Her voice was the crackling of burning wood. “After he told me how you tried to murder my man and steal my son.”

“I would have regretted Natakas’ death.”

“Like you regretted his mother and siblings I’m sure.”

“Blame Artabanus, not me. He could have turned himself in.”

“He talks a lot.” The man with the sword said. Both he and his sister were wearing leather and bronze armor, with tall greaves and those strange crested helms that Greeks loved so much. They reminded him of the temples on Delos and Mykonos, the twin gods, and he shook his head at what might have been. What he could have taught the boy. “Why are we still listening?”

“You’ll kill me, then? Two to one? Not very sporting.”

“You brought a whole fucking army to Dyme for three people and a baby.” Kassandra shifted her weight. “But before we dance, I made a promise.”

Amorges waited, but didn’t quite believe it when he saw the man step out of the shadows cast by the burning mining camp. In the lurid orange-red glow he almost looked like an image of Ahriman, the one slaughtering the sacred bull Gavaevodata. He wore a patch over his left eye, and his movements were stiff compared to what Amorges remembered, but he had no idea if that was age, or the remains of what they’d done to him at Dyme.

“Surprised to see me?”

“Surprised that you can stand. After what the Immortals did, I expected you to die.”

“If you wanted me dead, you could have walked over and killed me.” Artabanus sighed. “Was it worth it? All of this?”

“We swore an oath to protect Persia. I intend to do so.” He turned to include Kassandra. “I don’t hate you. I don’t even want you dead, really. But look around you. This… all this? A handful of you, two Tainted Ones and an old man, and you set Messenia aflame in a week? You are fire. Uncontrolled, you set everything ablaze. Your son would have been safe. Safe from you and the chaos you bring, raised to help bring order.”

“Oh.” Alexios said. “ _That_ ’s your game.”

“Alexios…” Kassandra had felt the blood drain out of her, hearing Amorges’ words. She was sure her face showed the fear she felt, but Alexios waved a hand. Stood to his full height, no longer crouching.

“Let me tell you something about trying to raise a child to be a weapon for order. It doesn’t work. We’re _not_ fire. We’re not something you can predict. We don’t follow rules. You can’t make a fire pit and trust us to stay in it. Your Cult friends tried. Didn’t they tell you? This all started because they wanted to control a child, bring it up their way.” He tossed his head from side to side. “Seriously, why haven’t we killed him yet?”

“I agree with him.” Amorges raised his shield. “Let us end it. But the Order will endure. Persia will endure, and in time Greece will come willingly to us, for safety from those that can ruin a whole nation in a month.”

“Amorges.” Artabanus shook his head. “I was wrong.”

He almost lowered his shield out of pure disbelief.

“You were right, about Artaxerxes. I saw only what he might do. You tried to warn me, and I didn’t listen. But you were wrong about the Order. About trying to protect the world this way. You blame them for what’s happened in Messenia.” He stepped to walk towards the big statue of Zeus in the center of the courtyard. “But you’re the ones who stacked the tinder. You’re the ones who attack. Pactyas kept saying it. ‘ _We kill hundreds to keep you from killing thousands.’_ But you never _stop_ , Amorges, and those hundreds keep adding up. The people at Dyme didn’t deserve what happened, and it was _you_ who chose to do it. Not Kassandra. Not even _me_. You.”

He turned and pulled his hood back, let his face show. The recent scars from Dyme. The years of running. The wife and children he’d buried. Kassandra felt a wince of pity at the clear pain on his face, the first time he’d ever showed it. He stepped closer, his hand out.

“You don’t have to die here today. Enough people have died. For an idea? For your dream of protecting the world, like a garden you’ll be tending forever? No, Amorges. It can’t be. There will always be _someone_ you end up deciding has to die for your dream. There will always be more tyrants…”

“And there will always be us to stop them.” Amorges shook his head, sadly. Raised his shield. “Goodbye, Artabanus.”

Kassandra felt it in the spear in her hand, felt it move down her spine like a bowstring releasing. She moved before she knew why she was moving, the broken spear in her hand a missile hurling into Amorges’ chest and checking his swing. She saw Darius fall at the same time, saw Alexios move to grab the old man, imagined what she’d have to say to Natakas when they came back without him. _Idiot! Why did you let him talk you into this? Better to just kill Amorges and be done!_

She ran forward, her head full of the worst possible option.

“Is he…”

“I’m fine.” Darius said thickly. Held up his palm, a livid slash across the skin, deep and oozing blood but hardly fatal. Laying dead, Amorges’ hand was now empty, the sword fallen free, and Kassandra could see an old scar across the palm. “An old trick. Better to take a wound on the hand then in the heart. I was the one who taught him that.”

*

In some ways, life in the little shack south of Messenia had been ideal for the last month.

Kassandra and Alexios had cleaned it. There was an old shipwreck off of the island, and a dock that the _Adrestia_ had used to drop them off. It was small – smaller even than the house in Dyme had been. The previous owner had brought in a huge supply of wine in clay jars. Alexios and Barnabas had loaded most of it onto the ship.

“I’ll get a good price for this in Naxos.” Barnabas said. “Plus, people may see the _Adrestia_ there.”

“Stop in Keos, too. Be conspicuously inconspicuous. You know. Make sure they notice that you’re trying not to be noticed.” Kassandra hugged the _triearchos_. “Have Iola wear the shawl and act imperious.”

“She was going to do the second anyway.” He laughed and left, and soon, they were alone on the island, the four of them and the baby in a small shack. Alexios ended up spending most nights outside sleeping under the stars. Darius had amazed them all by regaining the ability to walk the first week, and being something akin to his old self within two more.

Kassandra had laid out the plan over dinner their first night there. Stay low. Don’t attract attention. Observe the Order’s moves in Messenia. She and Alexios would go spy on them, while Darius and Natakas stayed with Elpidios and kept him safe. Natakas didn’t like it, but it made sense. After a month of spying, they’d started taking action. Killing the Order’s top people. Burning their supplies. Freeing an Athenian _Strategos_ and using him to wage war on the local Order supporters in the guise of the war heating up again.

But for much of that time, for Natakas, it had almost felt normal. Kassandra coming home with fish or some rare treat, olives or pomegranates, on the little skiff. Alexios returning with another idea to make the place more livable. He’d even expanded it, enlisting Natakas to help him and Darius to ‘supervise’ which mostly meant playing with Elpidios while the two men worked. Kassandra had not.

“I sweat enough killing people. I’m not a carpenter.”

It was almost comfortable. Memories of Dyme meant it wasn’t _truly_ so, but when he rested at the end of the day and watched Kassandra with the baby in her arms, his small face alight with laughter (and yes, a little mischief… he was past a year old now) and his father sitting by the fire, he was content.

But when he saw the three of them walking up the dock, the grim looks, the burned and scraped and torn armor, his father’s hand bandaged, he knew it was over.

“What happened to…”

“Amorges.” Darius shook his head. “It’s fine. It’s over.”

They’d done what they could for the wound to keep infection from setting in, Kassandra working with those rather smelly herbs her mother had packed for them. Natakas wondered what she and her… husband? The relationship between Myrrine and Nikolaos was opaque to him, but he wondered if the two of them were safe back in Sparta.

“So what now?”

“Barnabas should check in soon. By next month. The Order has no idea where we are and they won’t have the manpower to search for us with chaos in Messenia like it is.” Kassandra shook her head as she finished wrapping Darius’ hand. “But we can’t stay indefinitely. As nice as the new room you made is, ‘Xios.”

“Figures. I finally develop a useful trade and you leave it to fall apart.”

“Yes, it’s very nice you figured out what end of the hammer goes where.” She patted his face in a sisterly way that was calculated to irk him. Natakas could see the surprise on Alexios’ face, the wary acceptance turn into something like relief. “I saw we head south. Crete, maybe.”

“Not me.” Darius said.

“What?” Natakas spoke up. “Father…”

“You have a child and a family, Natakas. They’re going to be hunting the people you love, your wife and son, for who they are.” He looked over at the child sleeping in his uncle’s arms. “What I can do is keep them distracted. Keep them occupied trying to find me. I think perhaps I’ll go to Egypt.”

“Why Egypt?”

“The Egyptians never really accepted the Persian yoke. There are those who might welcome any chance to gain their independence.” He stretched in his seat, clearly still feeling the pain from the injuries he sustained at Dyme. “But that’s not a problem for tonight.”

Kassandra kept her tongue still and let Natakas brood on that. She was focused on other things. After they finished eating and Alexios cleaned up, she and Natakas put Elpidios to bed and she left him to his brooding with a kiss, and walked outside to find Alexios standing on the dock, staring out onto where the Aegean and the Ionian Seas met.

He looked up when she approached.

“Little brother.”

“I’m leaving too.”

“I thought as much.” She stopped next to him. “I can’t talk you out of it?”

“Sparta isn’t my home. I don’t know that anywhere ever will be.” He looked up at the stars, straightening his back and extending his shoulders. Without his armor on, he looked less imposing, but Kassandra knew better. Inside Alexios was the thing the Cult had made him, he’d never completely escape it. “Besides, the old man had a point. If I’m out in the world, I can draw some of their attention away from the two of you.”

“I don’t…” She sighed. “I will miss you.”

“Honestly?”

“Yes.”

“After…”

“Even after that.” She leaned against the piling and looked up at the sky. “I think about what he would say. What he would want me to do. I don’t know the answer, but I had to make a choice and I made it. We’ve talked about it before, but if you need to hear it again… I forgave you a long time ago, ‘Xios.”

They stood together for a while. Eventually he reached out a hand and clasped her shoulder. She let him. She watched him walk to the house. Then she closed her eyes and leaned back against the piling.

_Is it so hard to know what I would say?_

“Oh, yes.” He wasn’t there, of course, but she kept her eyes closed anyway. “Harder than anything.”

He didn’t speak again. Because he wasn’t there.

She opened her eyes and thought about sailing west instead of east. Massalia? It was a Greek colony, there were always conflicts with the Etruscans and Keltoi but her name and face was unlikely to be known there. 

Finally she put the thought aside. No point in it. The future would arrive when it did. For now, she had Natakas and Elpidios to worry about, and that was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, it's done. Hopefully people enjoy it. If I manage to write any more (IRL is kind of making me very anxious ATM) then I might do one about Kassandra and Brasidas in Hades from a Brasidas/Kassandra ship perspective.


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